


Stars, Hide Your Fires : T - 13 :

by StudioRat



Series: Branches and Fate [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Adventure, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon Divergent, Canon Related, Childhood Friends, Epic Friendship, Fate, Gen, Gothic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Gore, Scenery Porn, Tragedy, War, grimdark friendship, horror i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StudioRat/pseuds/StudioRat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?</p><p>Wherever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow. But - that parting need not last forever. Whether that parting be forever or merely a short time, that is up to you.</p><p>-</p><p>Setting:<br/>After and sideways of Majora. Link found a shard of a timeshift stone, and with that and the Ocarina and a lot of For Science!, has done Time Stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stars

A deceptively mild wind swept the eternal dust of the valley into a stately pavane as Rajo slipped from shadow to shadow in the lowering sunset. When twilight succumbed to the kiss of night, that same wind would sharpen her teeth, but they had no intention of being her prey this night or any other.

Their mothers would lecture and withdraw their attention for days if they ever noticed Rajo’s absence from their proper place among the other children of their section. The division masters would assign repair work and quarry service for their entire section for weeks if they were discovered - and the other children would thereafter devise punishments infinitely more sharp and varied than their elders ever dreamed of.

Rajo held every respect for the reasons behind their rules, for order formed the warp on which the lives of the people were woven. Winter was an unforgiving season just as much as summer, and the rocs of weather and war and wasting took enough souls through the veils of world already, and more from the people than any merciful god should allow. The mothers and the elders were right to guard the children of the people from their own folly until they were old enough to understand.

Rajo slipped between the patrols and over the edge of the roof with all the grace of a lace-weaver’s float, following a different law entirely, one as old as the stars.

 

A thread alone has no meaning and no real value until it is woven into a greater purpose. The potential it represents cannot even be measured until it is woven, but a single thread by its presence or absence may make the difference between a tapestry and a tangle.

It is woven that the greatest of all virtues, and therefore the greatest of all sins, begins and ends with the people. To take from the people what they cannot afford to give is a grave offense, unless the need of the one taking outweighs the need of the bearer, or the taking may be repaid before the damage is too great.

Rajo’s need ran soul-deep, and they would return to the people with the sun as they always did. But tonight, they could not bear to lie alone behind stone walls while the wandering fire danced magic across the heavens. If Rajo’s thread frayed for a loss of sleep, they knew themselves spun strong enough to bear it.

 

Rajo dropped silently to the last shallow terrace above the unforgiving ground. The doors on this level had long since been filled in as the fortress grew, and no one, not even the Rova, ever patrolled here. There was no need: its narrow, worn ledges lay in full view of the terraces above, and frequently served a more deadly purpose than offering one small child a rest in their forbidden adventures. From below, the false doors looked real enough, and the terrace itself served to tempt invaders into lingering on its false safety well within the range of the archers hidden above.

Except - Rajo’s golden eyes saw things others missed. Twice in the cycle of each day, the terrace on the eastern face lay draped in deepest shadow for exactly half a candlemark as the sun or her wayward silver lover raced for the horizon. They asked once, drunk on the freedom of indulging their discovery seven nights running, why the Rova set no torches on the empty terraces.

The answer, like all answers worth knowing, came in the form of work. The exhaustion of forty nights spent climbing the fortress walls armed and at speed under the close watch of the trainers was no small cost, nor were the torments of their section mates for inciting it. (For everyone knew the moment the lesson began, as they always did, that once again, Rajo had Asked A Question.) No one, not even a whipcord child of the people, honed by the sands and the will of the gods, can climb the fortress walls from the ground to the first real terrace in less than three quarters of a candlemark. Even a legendary sheikah warrior mage could not have scaled the walls in half that time, and they would first need to survive the barren approach.

 

Rajo held the second-worst record in their section for speed in every kind of climb, and the fourth-worst time in the flat run, although they could carry three times the weight of anyone else while doing either. No one, not even the Rova, entertained the slightest idea that Rajo might escape over the walls, for it was beyond impossible they could ever make the return climb unseen.

But for one tenth of a candlemark, twice a day, Rajo did not need to climb.

 

The sun took her last step over the far horizon, and twilight spread its blanket over the sky. Rajo waited, chanting the simplest of look-away charms until the moment the fortress’ shadow kissed the eastern cliffs.

It is woven that the worlds of the living and the dead are both separate and joined, like cloth made on a doubled warp. Threads may pass from one to the other in the shadows between the shuttle’s pass, binding them together, but the no thread can travel both at once.

Except in the hours of twilight and false dawn, when the shuttle of time slows and the shed draws close in passing power from day to night. An ephemeral magic sparked where the spirits of the living and the lost danced together, as rich in promise as it was poor in time.

Rajo reached out once again, and the shadows embraced them as no one and nothing else ever had.


	2. Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?

Rajo savored the walk along the lee of the eastern cliffs as much as they dared, dancing their spindle along in idle quietude. This far from the fortress, no regular patrol could see them, and no mageborn knew to look. Even their awesomely powerful Mothers Rova accepted appearance as truth more often than they would approve of if they knew.

Rajo retired to sleeping quarters when all the other children did, and rose just the same. If no one could say for certain whether or not Rajo’s bed saw regular use in between, so also no one thought to ask.

 

The wind coiled more sharply wherever a tumble of shale and slate and ironroot shrubs cut a steep wash from the limestone cliffs, but Rajo knew its moods well. Under their long mantle of rust and ochre twill, Rajo wore a long split-skirted tunic of coffee-colored vicuña, and matching bloused trousers of dappled twisthorn wool, twice fulled. Fine enough garments to deserve penance for risking them against merciless stone for a child’s whim, but old enough that no one had noticed the repairs they’d made already.

Half a candlemark before the wind truly lifted her pace, Rajo shortened their spindle lead and climbed the long slope between the Serpent's Rest and the Sister Stones. By the time the cop grew too fat and ungainly for short twirls, Rajo gained the floor of the first of six sheltered box canyons the people called the Lady’s Quiver. Here, the wind traded speed for mischief at every hour, but by some blessing of the gods the stone of this place reflected the heat of day well past nadir even on the coldest nights.

 

Rajo paused in a sheltered place near the first target pole to start winding the new yarn around their open right hand. The first few loops were always tricky, balancing tension and angle, better done with focus. Without, the whole thing could collapse in a snarl. Or worse - unless the yarn was very weak, wound too tightly it could turn their fingers purple before the plying was done. Rajo was good at making strong yarn, even better than their favorite sister, though she had twice as many summers behind her.

Rajo repeated words they learned from that same sister when they found the seventh slub in as many loops. At this rate, they would never earn the honor of spinning creamy combed wool into warp, even for plain cloth. Maybe they should do as Nabs had, and trade their fine topaz whorlstones for extra lessons in the blade courts.

Time enough to decide some other night - Rajo looped the fuzzy tails of the new yarn around the flat brass hook, and resumed both step and spin. It was so much easier to think like this, wrapped in the song of the desert and the rhythm of the work. Out here, it was even possible to think of nothing at all, which was another magic the Rova didn't think much of.

 

Sometimes it seemed their mothers didn't think much of any of the magics Rajo was best at.

 

Rajo hurried their pace, dancing the spindle in wide arcs before them as they slipped along the target line in the shelter of the fence. With so many flaws already, there was no reason to take special care balancing the twist. This batch would serve for plain cloth whether it was finished neatly or not. What was more important was getting to their secret place before full night and the wind resumed her wild hunt.

Rajo measured three-fourths of the canyon and half the yarn back onto the spindle shaft when they heard the strange and piteous sound. Almost like a lost kitten, but somehow damp, and broken. Rajo paused in the shadow of another target pole, and sent the spindle through three more arcs, listening.

The sound came again.

This time they understood it rose from the shadows somewhere ahead, where the canyon took a sharp turn and narrowed to barely more than a quarter it's breadth. The night hid all manner of creatures, some hungry, but this sound matched nothing Rajo knew of.

The novelty decided for them.

If it was a dangerous creature, it was still twilight for another little while, and Rajo was certain they could get away without too much challenge. Evading discovery for the rest of the night until they could safely return to the Fortress would be a more difficult matter, but best not to spend worry on it until the time came.

The sound strangely did not grow any louder as Rajo eased closer, hurrying the remaining yarn along towards a settled twist. There was still too much of it to simply wind on the spindle without it tangling. The cry did, however, gain a troubling catch and whistle in its muffled discord. Angnu had sounded like that, when the long fever deepened, with the terrible red cough.

Rajo caught the spindle in their right hand as they snuck around a broken part of the fence. Funny thing, that spot. They didn't remember hearing about any training accidents, but the riding fence along the whole northern end of this canyon was a disaster, and had been for weeks now. The sweet smell of charred wood coiled around them, but under it Rajo now caught the tang of blood and reek of bile.

 

The shadows moved.

Rajo froze in place, watching the darkness under the wreckage of a shattered target pole for some hint of what it hid. They could call a firespark to see more clearly, but the Rova might feel that. Light magic though - the Rova said it was too dangerous for people, a bloodthirsty and unpredictable source of power - but the foreigners’ books spoke of light doing wondrous things.

The shadows moved again, before Rajo could decide about calling any magic.

Three small moldorm broke through the sand between Rajo and the wreckage. Even in the murk of evening their bared fangs glistened with venom, but the mindless scavengers had no interest in them. Whatever pitiful thing cried in its makeshift lair had a more terrible fate slithering towards it.

 

Moldorm venom was a terrible way to die, but being eaten while paralyzed by it was surely even worse.

 

Rajo drew their curved shortblade with their off hand and sprang forward. The wandering fires answered their wordless cry, tearing down from the heavens to spark on Rajo’s blade. The slowest moldorm died at the zenith of its instinctive leap. The second ignored its danger and dashed instead for its chosen victim, exploding in a dazzling shower of sparks as it reared back to strike. The third circled back under the sand, and Rajo perched on a splintered section of charred cedar to wait for it.

The wandering fire danced with the wind, and Rajo knew their time grew dangerously short. Still, the last moldorm circled the wreckage, sand hissing over its segmented carapace as it burrowed underneath. The lair must only be open on this side, or the moldorm would have shifted at once to the unguarded approach. The things had no consciousness, but instinct and hunger was more than enough to make them formidable.

At last, it yielded to the temptation of its wounded prey, and burst from cover in a shallow arc. Rajo met it in the air, stunning it with their heavy rim-weighted whorl and slicing through its open jaws with their long knife. It squealed as it thrashed, and Rajo stabbed at it until it fell silent at last.

 

The wind laughed, cruel and hungry.

 

Rajo ducked under the shelter of the fallen target board, whispering a don't-move spell from the Rovas’ notebooks. A fragment of foreign magic, short-lived and easily broken, but perhaps enough to stun the wounded creature before it could launch a desperate attack. Even exhausted and in pain, a cornered wild thing could strike without warning.

The stench turned Rajo’s stomach, but what brought them to their knees was the sight of splintered white bone and glistening fat erupting through - not fur or scales or hide - but fragile human skin.


	3. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?

“Din’s merciful fires,” Rajo swore.

“Fuh,” answered the dying stranger, the grotesquely swollen fingers of their left hand twitching.

“Don't move - that makes it worse-” Rajo began, sheathing their knife and fumbling the half-finished yarn off their other hand.

“Fuhhrr-!” said the stranger, ignoring Rajo’s instructions and twisting their mottled, swollen face away towards the back of the shelter.

Rajo looked too - something bright lay under a heap of enormous splinters and stray tumbleweeds. With a snort of disgust for the stranger’s greed, Rajo crawled deeper into the shelter.

Whatever was more important than dying had to be amazing.

“Fauhhh-” said the stranger again, in their broken, wheezing tones as Rajo dug through the sand and wreckage to uncover the precious object.

“Here,” said Rajo, shoving the shining, glittery trash at the stranger impatiently. “There’s your stupid bottle - stay still while I get the mothers.”

“Fah,” whispered the stranger, reaching impotently for its light. “Ahl. Fah - ahl.”

Rajo frowned. The bright bottle shimmered, filling the shelter with a dappled rose-gold light. The stranger’s wounds were terrible, and they were also incredibly dirty from dragging themselves through the sand. It was worse than when Dira fell into the corral with the new string of foreign horses, and there was no knowing how long the stranger had lain this way. Even the Rova might not be able to do much now.

“Ahl,” said the dying stranger, tears oozing down their battered, bloody, misshapen face. “Ahhhl-p.”

“Yeah, help,” said Rajo, sidling back towards the entrance of the shelter where the wind was beginning to wail as she ran. “You gotta stay awake though while I get it.”

“Nnnn - fah! Faaahr,” said the stranger with a whimper, hitching their broken body closer to Rajo, curving towards the bright bottle lying in the sand.

Rajo stopped. The stranger’s movements made their stomach rise into their throat and threaten to shame them. It wasn't just the sight of grinding bone and shifting viscera - although that was bad enough. Rajo had imagination - too much of it, the Rova said, and most of the training masters agreed.

“I don't understand,” Rajo said at last, staring hard at the bottle, wishing its light could blot out the images burned into their mind.

“Fahhr,” whispered the stranger, tapping the shining glass with their broken fingers, pawing impotently at the corked end.

Rajo glanced behind them at the sky. Too late - the timeless shadow roads of twilight gave way to the tangled paths of night. Even if they could make it back to the fortress tonight with the wind in pursuit, they would certainly not be able to bring help before dawn.

Rajo repeated one of Nabs favorite words, and sat beside the stranger.

“Ahhl-p,” said the stranger, touching the edge of Rajo’s mantle and then the bright bottle with a damp and unsettling grinding noise when they moved.

Rajo sighed. This was _not_ how tonight should have gone. They picked up the grimy, glittering bottle, trying to puzzle through what made the stranger want it so much. The heavy glass was thick and slightly bubbly - whatever spell made it glitter was somehow caught inside. 

Rajo pried the cork free to get a closer look, and the world exploded.


	4. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?

Rajo drifted in arms of the wandering fire, dizzy yet somehow content. The dancing lights didn't make any sense, but that was fine.

Patterns were like that. Weaving, words, water. Small pieces could mean anything or nothing, but collect enough of them together and they could make great magics.

 

One day, Rajo promised, he would wield the beautiful power of the wandering fire and unlock the secrets of the world.

 

One day, Rajo told the wandering fire, he would bring the people shade and sweet water and tame the ravening wind.

 

One day, the Rova would be proud of him.

 

-

 

 

“Hey, is ok now, yeah? Come on, wake up, yeah? You don't want to sleep here, yeah?”

 

The strange voice grated on Rajo’s mind like the sound the sand sea fortress made when the black noon pressed against its walls. Every syllable hissed and whistled at the back of the sound, the words bumped along like slubby yarn, and the sheer stupidity of saying ‘yeah’ that often made them furious.

 

“Come on, please,” said the voice. “Wake up girl, it’s ok, yeah?”

“Din’s fire but you're stupid,” Rajo swore, grinding their knuckles into their aching eyes. The wandering fire seemed only brighter the longer they lay in it.

The idiot voice cheered, jostling their shoulder and causing the wandering fires to burn in an entirely new way. It babbled about music and magic and apologized for something entirely incomprehensible. They punctuated every thought with another ‘yeah’ as if that would make up for the strength they obviously lacked. And they kept calling Rajo ‘girl’.

“Stop it,” said Rajo, blinking through the dazzling fire, trying to sit up.

“Sorry, yeah,” said the idiot. “You feeling all better now girl?”

Rajo glared at the weird shining face to their left. It kept moving in the fires - no, Rajo was moving.

 

No.

The ground was moving.

 

Rajo said another of Nabs favorite words, and had the slim satisfaction of seeing the glittering idiot recoil in horror. “Three things. I'm not a girl. Stop saying yeah. When I run, you run the other way. Don't stop till you’re on rock.”

The glittering idiot looked confused. “That's four things. Why running?”

“The mother woke,” Rajo said, drawing their long knife and pointing to the fouled, faintly shifting sand below them. The wandering fires hadn't pulled back much at all, but that couldn't be allowed to matter now.

“Oh, no worry. I kill worm, you feel better yeah? Stay put.”

 

Rajo scrambled to their feet as the idiot seized a new face from the sand, which pulled the fabric of magic into its blinding eyes with a horrible rippling fire. The idiot screamed, a deep and tormented sound that reached into Rajo’s bones even deeper than the splitting pain that came from standing up into the bottom of the fallen target board.

Rajo pressed their back tight to the wreckage, bracing themself against the pain, desperately grounding their senses in the real as the terrible light pouring off the writhing, expanding form of the glittering stranger stole their vision.

 

The wind coiled into the shelter as the light ripped it apart, and the ground trembled. The moldorm queen screamed as she broke into the open air - Rajo could not see her through the veils of wandering fire, but they imagined her rearing above them, hungry and vicious.

Nabooru had won a pair of queen’s fangs for valor in a raid last spring. They were almost as long as her swords, chased with gold. She kept black powder in one and majir in the other.

She’d given them a black eye for getting caught drunk and scorched from exploring both. Rajo wished she were here to be angry with them now.

 

“Mother of sands,” Rajo prayed, trapped and uncertain. Heartbeats thundered past as the moldorm queen screamed again. The backlash of strong magic rippling through the world pushed their heart into their throat and they struggled to breathe.

 

Silence, terrible and deadly.

 

Even the wind fell quiet, whispering past as though she too feared to be noticed.

 

Shadows began to return at last, tangled at the edge of their vision with chaotic shards of light. Rajo tightened their fist on their knife, praying to the Three for strength against the terrible silence.

The wandering fires veiled themselves one by one, withdrawing their dance to the heavens in silence.

 

Except for one, its bright form reflecting against the vast lumpen carapace of the fallen queen. Alone of the flames, the pattern of this one resolved before their eyes: a mighty warrior with a terrible shining blade, clothed in the glory of the heavens at noon.

He turned empty, burning eyes on Rajo, hefting his enormous twisted sword.

 

Rajo Asked a Question.

 

Or rather, shouted all of them at once, in a great tumbling mass, each one racing to be the first off their tongue.

“Who are you? What are you? Did you kill it? Where are you from? Do you speak for the spirits? Do you bring my Name or my death? Who sent you? What is your sword made of?”

 

The warrior laughed, and his voice was the sound of the black wind and falling stones and the roar of the racing floods.

“Have you lost a name, to need a new one?”

  
Rajo screamed.


	5. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?

The fragrance of smoldering cedar and sage sweetened the mineral tang of the grotto, and the chatter of the small fire brightened the cold night. Outside, the wind had long since resumed her merciless hunt, but the winding dry creek and close-grown silverleaf baffled her for now.

Rajo hugged their knees, sitting at the farthest edge of the firelight, watching the shadows and trying not to think about being carried through the night by a spirit so fierce even the wind was afraid of him.

“Sorry I scared you,” said the stranger, kneeling a couple paces away. His voice was high and light now, but still bumpy. “Here, tea to keep warm, yeah?”

“I wasn't scared,” said Rajo, scowling at the stranger’s shadow. It was easier than looking at his moon-pale face.

“It's ok to be scared. I scare me too,” he said, crawling just close enough to set the steaming stoneware cup on the cool ground within Rajo’s reach.

"That's stupid. You can't be scared of yourself." Rajo refused to look at the cup. It smelled strange and sweet, and it made their tongue stick to the roof of their mouth with want.

 

The stranger sat back on his heels, looking away so his profile flickered on the smooth grotto wall in front of Rajo. “My name’s Link. I was a hero someday. I make it better, yeah? Are you lost?”

“How can you have such strong magic and be so stupid? Spirits are supposed to know everything but you don't even talk right.”

“Sorry,” said Link. “Still not very good at Gerudo talk, yeah? Maybe you teach me, and Nabooru will be less angry next yesterday.”

Rajo groaned. “You’re not very good at being a spirit either.”

 

Link laughed. At least this time he sounded like a regular person, and his voice wasn't weird with magic anymore. “No? Maybe you teach me that too. All Gerudo girls know lots about spirits, yeah?”

Rajo sighed. This was even worse than trying to understand the voice inside the Rovas’ blue gem. Even if they lived to see morning, no one was ever going to believe them.

“Are you a mean spirit cause you look weird or do you look like that cause you're mean? I'm just ilmaha Rova, ok?”

Link bowed his head. “I'm sorry Miss Ilmaha, I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“Don't you know _**anything**_?” Rajo said, glaring at Link. 

He wasn't much taller than Rajo now, and he wasn't shining in warrior’s garb anymore, but his moon-pale face was still smooshed-looking and he was wearing strange clothes in the gray and purple of mourning. He looked like the greedy and decadent foreigners the mothers and the warrior sisters told stories about. 

“Ilmaha isn't a name and I'm too young to be anything else yet. Why are you here? Are you a spy? Did the enemy send you? How do you know Nabs?”

Link wrinkled his already smooshed nose. “Gerudo don't get names for twelve years?”

“Of course ilmaha have names,” Rajo said. “And if I _**was**_ twelve, I could maybe go into the sands and ask the goddesses and spirits for my Name, if the Rova let me. But the mothers say seven is too little, even though I can carry enough water already.”

Link frowned, turning his weird blue eyes on Rajo. But - he didn't seem angry, and it wasn't quite as terrible as when he frowned with his shining or broken face. It was hard to look at him, but also strange and fascinating to meet someone with three different faces. When he broke the silence at last, he spoke in a third voice, too. Low and smooth, without the thin and bumpy shapes in his foreign words. 

“You’re too young to be so hard, and so tall. What terrible fate have you seen already, nameless friend?”

“I don't know about fate yet,” answered Rajo in the harsh foreigners’ words. If the spirit thought to impress or confuse them, he was wrong. “Next year maybe, or the one after, if the war doesn't get really bad and I'm not in trouble forever in the morning. I'm Rajenaya, but only when I'm in trouble. Which is lots.”

 

“Hope,” said Link, but his smile looked sad.

“Most call me Rajolaan. Rajo for short.”

“That is unkind of them, Rajenaya.”

“It’s fine,” Rajo shrugged. It didn't matter if they _were_ hopelessly clumsy and slow and always needing to know the why of things when they shouldn't. One day, none of that would matter. “It's only until I can ask the spirits in the sands for my Name anyway, and it's not as bad as teasing me for not being avadha yet.”

Link bowed his head, his pale hair veiling his reddened face. “I’m sorry, she told me all Gerudo were avadha except for one, but she didn't use ilmaha for… that person.”

“We haven't had a king since forever,” said Rajo, rolling their eyes. “What's so interesting about ours anyway? Are you trying to steal that too? Why? You have lots of your own.”

Nabs said the foreigners had thousands of little kings, all bowing to bigger kings, and the bigger kings to even bigger ones, and even elder mothers were less powerful than the least of their kings. But the Rovas’ forbidden books spoke of princesses born with rare and sacred powers, and they seemed more interesting and mysterious than any of the little kings.

 

Link tangled his fingers together, and looked away.

 

“Anyways,” said Rajo, uncomfortable with only the dripping grotto and chattering fire for company. “Nobody would tell an outsider about us ilmaha, cause you might be a spirit but you _ **look**_   like Hylian spy come to steal us away to put in cages and roast us like cucco if we don't give you treasure and tell you secrets.”

Link made a startled, squeaky sound. “That's not true! Hyrule is peace and order and light - the war is just a horrible misunderstanding, a mistake - I’m sure of it - I just need find him and fix it before it began.”

Rajo shrugged, eyeing the steaming cup of tea. It really did smell delicious. “They tell stories about us too. Nabs has one of their books, with pictures that are all wrong. We ilmaha  mostly live in the secret place because of it, which I won't tell you where it is even if you _**are**_ going to eat me. I like the border fortress best though, because the training courses are bigger and it's closer to the fast waters and the wandering fire.”

 

Link stared, blue eyes wide and searching. “And you're only seven.”

“Yeah, so?” said Rajo, their temper rising.

 

“Your Hylian is nearly perfect,” said Link after another long silence.

 

Rajo sighed, dropping their chin on their knees and trying not to wonder if the tea had honey in it. “It has to be. It's the rules, but it's a stupid one. When I have a Name I'm going to change it. If I get a Name.”

“Why?”

“Because it's not fair,” said Rajo. “Anyways what's wrong with _ **our**_ words?”

“Nothing,” said Link with a sigh, staring at his hands folded neatly in his lap. “It's a beautiful language. I'm not good at it - will you teach me better, Rajenaya? So Nabooru will understand and I don't say mean things by mistake?”

“How do you know my sister anyway? What do you need her for? So she's older and she’s won honors in the war already, but I read more. Lots more. And I have m- I'm good at things she's not. What could she understand that I can’t? Why do you even care about our kings anyway? And why were you dying before I let your spell out?”

 

Silence filled a hundred heartbeats. Link remained so still that Rajo wanted very much to throw something just to break him out of whatever spell he’d fallen into.

Instead, Rajo decided to taste the tea. The Link-spirit wasn't paying attention anyways, and if it was poison, well. It might be better than trying to explain to the Rova how they not only got caught by an enemy spirit when they were supposed to be asleep, but accidentally saved it from dying. 

Which was probably treason.

 

It tasted even better than it smelled. The sweet steam coiled sluggishly into Rajo’s nose as they lifted the cup, and the viscous elixir coated their tongue with the green flavor of flowering things and the richness of gentle rain summoning life from nothingness.

It was almost unbearably sweet, except for the tart curl at the edge of the tongue that made them crave another sip, and another, and another after that. Warmth spread from lips to heart, and the tip of their tongue hissed in warning of _too much_ heat and the hint of something strange in the scent when they drew the steam over their tongue between tastes.

Rajo knew the bewitching sweetness at once. 

Whatever else the Link-spirit had boiled in with it, the heart of it must be King’s Honey. Which was not honey at all, but made from the juices of the Sun’s Crown alongside two other rare nectars which Rajo was most _definitely_ not allowed to have, but tasted anyway in secret. The keepers of the storehouses made all three, but only when many Sun Crowns presented their hundred-year flowers. Then, they made lots, and the people feasted as much as summer allowed.

Even the Rova admitted the King’s Honey, Milk, and Tears partook of deep and wondrous magics, though they were nothing like their own mysteries. The sour and sharp tastes of the latter two came second only to the fire they kindled on tongue and throat for reasons to avoid both, but coating their tongue with pure King’s Honey - and not getting caught doing it - formed Rajo’s earliest happy memory.

 

“Is this poison? Are you feeding me King’s Honey so you can make a trifle out of me, just because I’m smaller than you when you wear your shining face?” Rajo blurted in a jumble of both languages at once.

Link made that weird squeaking sound again, standing suddenly. He stomped away to the shadows on the far side of the grotto, then paced from one side to the other, kicking pebbles savagely.

Rajo drank more tea. If it was poison, they were already doomed, and anyways it was a sin to waste water, and it tasted wonderful. There were worse ways to die than with King’s Honey on one’s tongue. They considered naming it their favorite thing, but then Rajo thought of the little cakes made with nutmeats and true honey and moon-white butter. A close second, though, certainly.

 

“I don't _eat people_ ,” said Link, his voice thin and cracked in places. But he chose to speak in the words of the people, and the hesitant bumps were fewer. “I give you life, from the worm. I give you comfort, from the wind. I give you strong tea, to make steady heart. All this - not for your help, not for trick - for _rightness_.”

Rajo thought for a moment, drinking half the tea that was left. As terrible as the journey from the Lady’s Quiver to the grotto had been, the Link-Spirit certainly held the ravening night wind away the entire distance.

“That's stupid,” said Rajo at last. “No one does anything for just one reason. That would be wasteful.”

 

“ _ **I don't eat people!**_ ” Link shouted. “Strong tea better sweet! Sweet is good. _**I**_ am good.”

 

When the grotto stopped vibrating with the echoes, Rajo said, “Okay.”

Link blew wind through his nose like a horse and stomped back into the ring of lowering firelight, his moon-pale face reflecting all the the warm sunset colors of the glowing coals. He refused to look at Rajo, but poured himself a cup of tea and dropped gracelessly to the sandy ground as far away as possible while still sitting in the light.

“I still want to know,” said Rajo carefully. “What do you want my sister for? Nabs doesn't like Hylians, so probably won't like their spirits either.”

Link turned ever so slightly, one blue eye peeking from under the curtain of his fine hair. His voice carried an echo of the black wind under it, so faint Rajo mistook it for a whisper of the fire at first.

 

“Can you keep a secret?” Link said.

 

Rajo grinned, pushing to their feet to close the distance between them. The fire burned sluggishly now, painting Link’s mourning clothes in all the glories of night herself, but the coals were hotter than ever. Rajo pulled off their mantle, swallowing back the nervousness and unease to drop it in a heap to sit on, right next to Link.

Link watched them refill their empty teacup in silence, his moon-pale face closed and unreadable. Rajo returned his look only when they were settled in as for the history-weavers’ stories. Except with tea. Made somehow with King’s Honey.

  
“Secrets,” said Rajo. “Secrets are the best magic, and I am _very_ good at _all_ the best kinds of magic.”


	6. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?

Link smiled, but it was not a nice smile. Rajo didn't like how the low firelight painted shadows around his weird blue eyes. Even though his flat face was round with apparent youth, when he smiled, Rajo saw in him the silent and eternal grins of the ancestors.

“I have even better magic,” said Link. “I make the sun and moon dance, and I have seen a hundred _hundred_ tomorrows.”

“You're making that up,” said Rajo, before they could think better of it. “Only the wandering fire dances, and nobody can see tomorrow because it hasn't been woven yet.”

Link only smiled wider. “That's the secret part. Tomorrow is yesterday is tomorrow when the sun dances, but only for me.”

Rajo considered this, sipping at their tea. Spirits could be powerful beyond the greatest armies and strongest Rova, and they knew amazing magics and could see bigger patterns than people could. But did the spirits have to tell the truth?

“Prove it,” said Rajo.

“I can't,” said Link. “The magic will make you forget.”

“Does your magic work backwards? Can you make today tomorrow?”

Link bit his lip, tilting his head the way Nabs did sometimes when she was thinking about a riddle. “Your sister worries if I do. But I did sing the night slow a little, for safe, to carry you to here.”

“Your shining face is tomorrow magic?” said Rajo.

“No - I sang that from the hurting one in tomorrow when the moon would fall. I learned the dancing in the first tomorrow of the bad one, when I was little, like you.”

Rajo drank their tea and sat on their anger. If only they’d thought to mark the dance of the stars, they might know if it was true.

“Even if I believed you - which I don't, because that's impossible - what does that have to do with my sister?”

Link’s terrible smile faltered, and he looked down at his cup. Rajo watched him play with the surface of his tea in the awkward silence, wondering why he chose this face to wear in the grotto. This face made him as short as Rajo, but smaller in every other way. They could almost forget how terrible his bright face was. 

Almost.

“I will know her once. Long ago tomorrow, in a hard time,” said Link. “I was her friend, but there was a badness, and bad magic, and - the bad magic hurts her. Every tomorrow, the bad magic, even though I try to tell her, it only went bad faster. So I go back, maybe I go to an older yesterday and be her friend earlier, she will understand. Maybe she will tell me how to find the badness in the before.”

“Well, that's stupid,” said Rajo, when Link didn't say anything else. “You talk with tangled words, and Nabs doesn't like riddles. Or Hylians. And you wear their face.”

“Yeah,” said Link, his shoulders bowed, a brightness gathering at the edges of his wide blue eyes. “In the tomorrow she will say jokes to the forest kid, but in the today she says… bad things. And it goes bad. Even without the bad magic.”

“Which face do you wear? And which voice? When you talk to Nabs I mean?”

Link sighed, and sipped his tea absently. The silence stretched awkward and long. Rajo drank their own tea and tried to be patient, but mostly just stared at Link’s strange clothes and thought of more questions.

“All of them,” he said at last, quietly. “I was thinking, I wear the shape from the tomorrow I met her, she’s not afraid, yeah? Except for green, can't be green anymore. But when she is not afraid, she is angry, even when I don't try to stop her.”

“You should fight her,” said Rajo. “When you win she’d have to listen. It's the rules.”

“That only makes everything bad faster,” said Link, shaking his head. “But I didn't know she would be **_so angry_**. She wouldn't stop. I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't stop, and then my words stopped working and she wouldn't stop and the bad magic didn't have her but she **_wouldn't stop._** ”

Rajo didn't like the wild look in his eyes, with white showing all around the blue and the black center drawing tight like it was noon even though the grotto remained dark. Rajo didn't much like the sharp edges in his words, either.

“Okay,” they said, tensing to spring away if the next thing went badly. It worked sometimes with Nabs, when she was thinking too much, but sometimes not.

Rajo reached across to touch the Link-spirit’s arm. He startled, turning those wild eyes towards them, but then his shoulders sagged and he looked away again, muttering an apology.

“It's okay. Fighting’s just an easy pattern, but I know lots more. You’re going to need my help though, cause you're kinda stupid.”

Link snorted and shook his head, but the corner of his lips pulled up in a wry grin. “Yeah, some stupid hero.”

Rajo grinned back. “Not for long. But you have to trade for it. It's the rules.”

“I can trade. What do you want?” said Link.

“Well, first you have to take me back to the edge of the Lady’s Quiver before dawn, so I can go home before they notice. If I get in trouble, I won't help you _ever_.”

“Okay, good, not lost,” Link said, smiling a true smile. “That one is easy. What else?”

“You want to know Geldo things,” said Rajo, sipping their tea so he wouldn't think he had advantage. “So. You tell me Hylian things. You're one of their spirits, you can't be _completely_ stupid, yeah?”

Link laughed. “Like what? You already speak the words good.”

“Tell me their stories. Tell me about their magic, and tell me why they hate us so much. Tell me how they make it rain, and what they do with rupees that they need so many. Tell me what snow is like, and forests, and spring, and what a lake is. And,” Rajo said, dropping to a whisper so Link had to lean close to hear. “Tell me about your magic princess.”

Link frowned, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Why,” he said.

“Why not?” said Rajo. “Do you belong to her? Did she send you? What's she like? Is she born with magic or did the spirits choose her? Who teaches her how to be magic if there's only ever one magic princess at a time and you have no Rova? Why don't you have Rova, anyway?”

“You talk about Rova lots. I knew some Rova in the tomorrows. Sisters,” he said, and his voice had a slippery sort of darkness in it. “The ones with the moon will be strange, but the other ones will be **_bad._** ”

Rajo shrugged, sitting on their anger again. He didn't know anything yet, that's all, and it wasn't fair to hit people for being stupid when it wasn't their fault. This, Rajo promised the distant stars, they would make be a rule someday. 

“Our Rova protect us. They teach me sometimes, when I'm not in trouble. They know all kinds of things, and have strong magic to talk to the spirits and ancestors - stronger than spirits, so don't be stupid - and they say the time of the king is coming too.”

Link licked his lips like a rock cat after a lizard, and Rajo felt the night wind sink her claws into their back. 

“...oops,” they whispered.

“It's okay Rajenaya,” Link said, but the darkness in his voice said it wasn't. “I keep secret. Trust me. Tell more. So I meet your king before the **_bad things_** happen.”

Rajo swallowed hard, trying to stay calm and pretend the Link-spirit was just a really weird horse so he wouldn't know they were afraid.

“You go first,” they said. “You owe me. For your bottle-spell. And I told you secrets too. Tell me about your magic princess. Have you seen her? Does she really live in a magic forest? Can she really make it rain when she cries?”

Link frowned. “Why you want to know about her? I won't let you hurt her.”

Rajo laughed, laying their hand over their heart. “I don't want to hurt her, stupid. I want to kiss her so the gods will love us too.”


	7. Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?

Rajo paced along the Serpent's Spine above the dry river, dancing their topaz and ebony spindle through the last few arcs to finish this batch and settle their unquiet mind. Link would ask about their absence, and Rajo was sorry to have missed a whole week with their strange friend. But even Rajo had limits: the fortress had been thrown into chaos and the guard tripled when the raiding party had to cut the bridge on their retreat.

Escaping tonight, they'd used the twilight roads from their bedroom window all the way to the Sister Stones in one desperate sprint. Monsters nipped at their heels, and the somnolent weight of the veiled half-light dragged at every step. Even now, a candlemark and more after returning through the veils, as the night wind began to lift her steps more swiftly, the effort of reaching the grotto at all threatened to trip them.

But Rajo had to meet Link tonight, or something terrible would happen.

Rajo wound the last ell of new yarn onto their spindle and knelt on the sun-warmed rock of the Spine to pray. The wandering fire danced on in beautiful indifference, and the glittering sands reflected its mysteries in silence.

If the Lady of the Sands had any mercy, the fierce Link-spirit would accept their small offerings, and go home. Maybe forever.

Rajo would miss him - they didn't have many friends among the other children, and sometimes they weren't sure they really had any. Not that Rajo could blame the others really. They were too much of everything - too tall, too clumsy, too serious, too curious, too different, and too favored by the Rova to be included in games and jokes and the little secrets everyone else whispered about between lessons. Usually they didn't mind - they had lots of magic, and the others didn't. No one could have everything, and if they could have picked, they’d have chosen the magic anyway.

The people needed strong magic much more than they needed fun.

Still. It was nice to laugh, and watch the stars in company, and trade stories about things besides training and war and raids and ill winds, even if Link was still embarrassingly stupid about everything important.

“Night is dangerous for little girls,” said a voice like the black wind. “Are you lost?”

“Din’s fire but do you **_never_ ** learn **_anything_ **?” Rajo said, pushing to their feet and picking up their heavy spindle.

“Rajo-!” cried the black wind, and then the light of high noon leapt from the darkness and wrapped Rajo in a smothering embrace.

Rajo counted ten, and then twenty, and tried to be patient, thanking the gods that no one else was out here to witness the indignity of being danced about like a toddling little just rescued from a fall.

“I worried - and the monsters are worse - and the sun danced and you still didn't come and there were more monsters and I went to the Quiver-place and you didn't come and the sun danced and you didn't come and the fortress-”

“Yeah, I know, I saw you on the dunes.” Rajo grumped, as Link swung them up onto their shoulder and set off towards the grotto with long strides. “You can't **_do_ ** that, Link, showing your shining face around other people like that. People do stupid things when you scare them.”

“Why didn't you come, Rajenaya? You said you had a magic road, but you didn't come and the monsters are swarming and the bridge is broken already but it's not supposed to break yet and there are soldiers and everything is wrong. I had to look for you, I had to. I can't let the bad magic get you too.”

“Maybe it breaks more than you thought, when you're away dancing or whatever,” said Rajo, looking out over the desert and trying not to think about the terrible light pouring off the spiraling sword in the Link-spirit’s left hand. “Anyways, did you make tea?”

“Not yet, but I have a secret for you! I had it days ago, but you didn't come and the monsters-”

“I'm here now,” said Rajo, cutting him off before he could fall into that spell that twisted his mind into loops again. “And you used the wrong word again. You mean surprise, not  secret.”

“Not the same?” said Link, though his innocent confusion delivered in such terrible voice made Rajo’s throat try to close.

“A surprise is a secret, but only for a little while, and you share it later, and make it not a secret anymore. Secrets stay secret.”

“But secrets make you happy, and I like you to be happy. Happy is good. I am good. Do surprises make you happy?”

“Depends. Sometimes surprises are only fun for the ones who know about it before.”

“This will be good surprise,” said Link, and no one sane would have argued.

 

-

 

Rajo waited in the lee of the boulder as the Link-spirit moved the thornbrush and silverleaf aside from the grotto entrance. Wearing his shining face, he stood much taller than Rajo, but so did any other grownup. His noon-bright armor made him seem larger than anyone though, and he wielded his enormous shining sword with the ease of a dancer weaving patterns with a fire reed. Thorns that would shred mortal skin seemed to bend away from him as he shifted their branches - and the wind never rose above a whisper when he walked abroad with his hollow starlight eyes.

Rajo held their shoulders back and chin high as they entered the grotto. Especially now, Link must be reminded that the people were strong, and proud, and unmoved by such minor wonders. The people stood between the spirits and the material world, and even a young and lonely warrior spirit could not be allowed to think himself above the oldest of laws, laid down by the Three at the dawn of the world.

Neither god nor spirit may hinder the free will of the people, nor command anything of them without they open themselves to the chance of their own destruction at mortal hands.

Rajo strode through the gathered smoke winding towards the entrance, resisting the cold thrill of fear climbing their spine as their own shadow stretched out before them. Two steps, four, six, and still Link followed in his warrior form.

“Hey,” said Rajo without looking back. “You're forgetting stuff again.”

Link voiced a wordless query, catching up in three long steps. The hair on Rajo’s neck rose despite the warmth radiating from the banked fire laid as always within a neat ring of stones at the center of the grotto. They hated to be reminded how easily a mad warrior spirit could snap them up like a wild beast. Rajo did not want to find out if the Rova’s go-away-ghost spell was strong enough for foreign warrior spirits.

“Your face, Link.”

“It's good, yeah?” Link said with a laugh like the rattle of shale before a hungry quicksilver flood from the highlands. “I keep you safe Rajenaya, no worries, no monsters. Good secrets for you, inside. Surprises. Go look!”

“I'm not worried,” said Rajo with a shrug, circling around the fire without looking back. The back of the grotto held fully half the comforts of home after hosting them all winter - but now dozens more heavy amphorae and sealed crocks in bright salt glaze splendor stood in neat rows along the curve of back wall. The vast knotted rug of many-colored twisthorn wool was cluttered with more crocks and cushions and upside down silver bowls and whatever lumpy thing Link had hidden under a twice-fulled cloak of sun’s heart purple. “It's just too bright, and you’ll steal the rest of the rug if you stay tall, and your sword is noisy.”

“No,” said Link, planting his boots with dramatic flair. “I am good. I keep away monsters.”

Rajo sighed as they sank into their favorite cushion, grinding the heel of their palm into their aching eyes. “Yeah. You did good. You chased all the other monsters off, you can put your sword away now.”

“Other?” The sword howled as Link crossed the grotto, stepping right through the fire to drop into guard over Rajo. “Where Rajenaya? Which way? Stay close - I get the monster.”

Rajo buried their face in their hands and cursed their clumsy tongue. The moment they heard the rumor about a bright spirit pacing the horizon, they knew Link had lost whatever quiet he’d gained over the winter. And now? As soon as he puzzled through Rajo’s slip, he would be angry.

“At least put your sword away - I've got stuff to tell you and I can't think with the noise.”

“Not safe till I get the monster - I don't see it - which way Rajo?” Link demanded answer, whirling in place so the terrible sword screamed and flared, filling the grotto with its searing light.

“Link, please. That face **_is_ ** a monster.”

“Don't be scared. It helps me protect you, Rajenaya,” he said, lowering his voice so it only made the grotto tremble instead of shake.

“Well don't,” said Rajo. “I don't like it.”

That got his attention at last, though they burned with shame to dance so close to admitting weakness and need. A dozen heartbeats hammered against their ribs as the light flared enormously, making fire dance behind their closed eyes, and then Link was kneeling beside Rajo and wrapping his thin arms around their shoulders. He smelled of silverleaf and woodsmoke and damp wool, but most important of all, he’d put away his shining face and the spiral sword with it.

“You smell like horses,” he said after a moment, somewhat muffled by the fact he’d buried his weird little nose in Rajo’s heavy mantle.

“Yeah,” said Rajo. “That's one of the things I came to tell you. I won't be able to come here anymore. The raid went badly, so we have to leave early this year.”

“Well they shouldn't steal anyway. Stealing is bad. Unless you're stealing from a stealer. Or to save people,” said Link, trailing off, but he caught himself before he fell into the mind loops again. “But it's ok - I can follow-”

“No, you can't. The sand sea fortresses have to stay secret, Link. What if the Hylian generals call you? If you knew where the ilmaha hid, you'd have to lie.”

“No -” Link tightened his grip. “I follow to keep the monsters and bad magic away - I'm your friend.”

“If Nabs or anyone else sees you I won't be able to reach you before they do, and maybe not even after. If you even **_have_ ** another bottle spell. And I won't be your friend anymore if you use that sword on any of my sisters.”

Link recoiled, releasing them suddenly with a wordless cry of denial. Rajo sighed, pushing back the cowl of their wrapped heavy mantle and trying to recover a semblance of dignity. This was not going **_anything_ ** like the plan.

“We’ll be back next year, probably. The Rova said I-”

“Your earrings,” said Link, his voice flat. “They're different.”

Rajo smiled, touching the central topaz cabochon on their wrought silver triangles reflexively. It ached a little, mostly because Nabs had made new holes above them so Rajo could wear both their hoops and their year-gifts at once. But it was a good kind of ache, and they were proud to wear something so fine. It made them feel older too, especially with the companion pectoral of faceted topaz wrapped in silver vines, strung along with tiny silver round bells between.

Link wasn't smiling when he reached out to trace a fingertip over the fine sculpted setting and gleaming stones of the near one - but he didn't have any jewels of his own at all. Yet.

Rajo laughed at their friend’s grave face, prodding his shoulder with their spindle. “Well? Aren't they pretty? Do you like them?”

“Oh. Yes, very shiny.” Link pulled his hand back, petting the soft wool on the spindle automatically. He liked the heavy, strong, lumpy yarn Rajo made, even if no one else did. He tilted his head like he was listening to the chatter of the fire, but his blue eyes wandered. “The stones match your eyes. Where'd they come from, Rajenaya? They almost look-”

“Hylian? They are! All the way from Castletown, just for me. They're not magic, but they look like they **_could_   **be. Nabooru gave them to me early, because she's not guarding the ilmaha this year either. It's not her fault we need so many sword-sworn on the border, but it's always nice to get more sun gems. They're my favorite.”

Now Link smiled, shaking his head like he was shooing away a fly. “My surprises are not so fancy. Some is gold - or at least **_looks_ ** gold. But if you'd rather have-”

“Wait,” said Rajo, stopping him with a curt gesture. “You're **_really_   **terrible at being a spirit, you know. You're the one who is supposed to accept gifts, and trade for magic and stuff.”

Link frowned, his pale hair falling in his eyes as he mumbled, “I bring you things you like, I make you happy. Then you be my friend, and tell me how to be Nabooru’s friend, and then I make the bad magic go away and no more bad things and no more monsters and-”

“Hey. It's ok, you're kinda new to being a spirit right? Well that's kindof like being ilmaha, and even I don't know close to half of all there is to know. And you don't even have a teacher.”

Link brightened, accepting Rajo’s offered spindle automatically. He might not be good at spinning yet, but the wool seemed to calm him, even when he was untangling a mistake. “I go with you, learn from your teachers, yeah? I can dress up-”

“Don't be stupid. Even with a magic face you won't fool anyone with spirit eyes. I’d teach you more but-”

Link’s eyes flared wide, anticipating already what must follow such a word. “No-”

“The Rova said I will be in a different division again, so I don't know when I’ll have a chance to use the twi- the magic to get here, even when we come back. They might be more strict or I might get assigned one of the inside rooms.” Rajo hurried through their speech, twisting to unwind their mantle and free the offerings they carried. “You can't bring your shining face around people though, especially not with the enemy trying to cross the canyon. So - it's time to go home, Link. I brought you things to help.”

Link sat back, cradling the heavy spindle like it was a kitten, biting his lip.

Rajo unwrapped each thing in turn, laying them before their strange friend in a tidy arc. A blank ledger bound in green-brown leather. Tiny bottles of char-black ink and a leather tube of sharpened roc feather quills in case Link didn't know how to shape nibs on his own, and a pair of scribes’ brushes stolen from the storehouse. A stack of battered primers for learning Hylian - another for even younger students learning to write at all. Link didn't need to learn Hylian letters, but Rajo thought maybe he could use them backwards, to learn Geldo script.

Rajo wasn't certain what the spirits thought of offerings which were stolen before they became offerings, but it must be better than what they thought of matters woven the other way around.

A roll of maps - not of the sand sea, that would be treason - but the canyon, and a little beyond on the other side, and one painting of the world coiled around the mother of sands. Rupees - just tiny shards of blues and greens that nobody would think to miss, but spilled out over Rajo’s spread mantle they shone like an oasis. A priceless curved flask filled with shining holy waters stolen from the Rovas’ overflowing workrooms. The label claimed it was harvested in the Lost Woods. Half of it had been used already, the rest forgotten.

A waxed parcel of layered honey and nutmeat cakes stolen from Nabooru herself. A tarnished copper torque fashioned to look like a snake, though it's eyes had fallen out. Rajo had scrubbed it clean of clinging lime and rust, glueing bright seeds in where gems used to brighten it. Hunting arrows, fletched with shining blue-green duck feathers. A braid of creamy combed wool dyed in oasis and twilight colors. A weaver’s spindle, carved of buttery golden thornwood, made with hooks carved right into the shaft at both ends and crosspieces so perfectly fitted it didn't even need oil. Those last, Rajo stole from the dead, but it wasn't much of a triumph as the ghosts wanted them to take both away to some fairy-boy.

Whatever that meant.

Of their own treasures - a book of legends, compiled generations ago in their own language and full of mysterious, complicated pictures which never seemed to show everything at the same time. A carved white marble cat no bigger than the cup of their palm, meant to protect and soothe during times of black wind. Another book, written all in tiny, perfect scribe’s hand, with no pictures at all and only the sign of the people surmounted by the sun crown carved into its cover. Which might be treason to give a foreign spirit, but maybe not. Anyways it would take him almost forever to translate.

And to all this they added a final parcel wrapped in faded sky cloth, daring greatly to lay the small but heavy bundle directly on Link’s knees.

His eyes were huge and shining, fixed on Rajo instead of any of the offerings at all. The red light from the banked fire threw a sinister cast over his moon-pale face and tight dawn-gray underclothing. His ill-fitting mourning tunic of sun’s heart purple looked almost black - less terrible than his noon-bright warrior garb but only just. Rajo wondered again if his friend was a death-spirit or just a powerful, mad ghost.

“Well, open it,” Rajo said.

“I don't want shiny things, Rajenaya, I want-”

“Yeah, I know. But I have to stay with my people, and you have to go home. I won't be able to trade stories anymore, but maybe these things will help you fight whatever bad magic it is you're bound to. When I get a Name and stronger magic, maybe I can trade better things, but you have to promise to stay away until then, ok?”

Link frowned, touching the parcel on his knees hesitantly. “When is then?”

“I don't know yet. Go on, open it. They will make you happy, so you can go home.”

“Always sent away,” Link muttered darkly as he laid Rajo’s spindle aside, picking at the lumpy yarn tying the bundle closed. “Go away hero, no work for you, don’t belong.”

Rajo sighed, holding out their hands. “Then give it back if you don’t want it.”

Link thrust his pointed jaw forward and set to untangling the knot in earnest. His curiosity was as bad as Rajo’s, maybe worse. They’d struggled to distract him all winter with puzzles and riddles and legends, but he never forgot Rajo’s slip about the king. Every night they met, he returned to that thread with singleminded greed.

Rajo hoped the books would take him a long time to translate. Maybe forever. They were full of riddles, half of which even Rajo hadn’t solved. Was it treason to give him legends if he didn’t understand them? What if he gave them to the Hylians? Surely none of them bothered to learn Geldo letters, but what if they decided Link was a bad spirit for having them?

“Oh,” said Link, his blue eyes wide and his lower lip trembling. He stared at the jewels in his lap, touching each of the green garnets set in enameled gold like he was afraid they weren’t real.

“Do you like them? They’re not scary snakes, see the pattern of the scales? These are made just like the good ones. They eat scorpions and even little mice. We let them live in the storehouse, but sometimes you have to catch them and put them in baskets when the raids are coming back, so they don’t get squished. They don’t really have green eyes, and they’re not stupid enough to eat rocks, but I think it’s pretty.”

“Where are these from? Did you - you stole these, didn’t you?”

“It’s not really stealing, and anyways he won’t mind,” said Rajo with a snort. They picked up one of the bracelets and wound it around Link’s thin wrist. It was loose - but that was ok. This way, it wouldn’t break when he put on his real face. “There, see? Now you have green to wear.”

“ _ **He**_ ,” said Link, and his voice cracked when he said it. “You **_stole_ ** from the **_king_ ** -”

“It’s not stealing if no one is using it, and anyways he’ll have lots of other jewels to wear someday, more than even a giant could put on all at once.” Rajo leaned over to drape the heavy pectoral around his neck, fastening it at the shoulder as Link stared right through them.

“Rajenaya -” Link began, belatedly reaching up to stop them. But he didn’t seem to understand how the clasps worked. All he really did was knock it sideways so it hung over his shoulder and looked silly instead of fine.

“It’s ok. You need it more anyway. These stones - they are for a special kind of magic, to bring good things to everyone who sees them. They will help you fight the bad magic, and now you don’t have to be sad about losing the green things you had before, because these are better.”

“No-” said Link, pushing their hands away as Rajo tried to figure out how to fasten the hair ornaments on without braids to clasp. “ _ **Can’t**_   be green anymore, have to fix it first. You have to give it back before he gets mad, Rajenaya. Before **_bad things_ ** happen. Or - tell me where it goes, so you can run away and be safe. I will fix it. I am good. I fix things. Just tell me where he is, so he can’t hurt you or anyone-”

Rajo set their jaw and wound more bracelets on Link’s other wrist. “The king’s treasure is only called that because he’s the reason we make it, and because he will use it, but he belongs to us, so everything he owns is ours, really. And **_I_   **say you need green more, so you won’t hurt the people by mistake when you’re just trying to fight the bad magic. Giving you new, fancy green to wear in place of the green you lost will make you happy and protect the people. It was just resting with the king’s treasure until I could get it for you.”

Link made a wordless sound of muffled protest, and the brightness in his eyes spilled over his moon-pale cheeks, gleaming in the lurid red firelight. He hiccuped with a squeak like a sorrowing little, and brought his fist to his lips, biting into his own knuckle as if to silence the small keening sound rising from his throat. A sound like when Rajo found him dying under the wreckage of the fallen target board.

Rajo felt their heart skip a beat, but not in the way it did when they were afraid. They rose up on their knees and pulled Link into their arms, tucking his fair head under their chin the way Nabs used to comfort them when they were smaller. Link sobbed into their mantle, shaking and broken, as far removed from the noon-bright warrior as it was possible to be.

“There isn’t a king yet, Link. So he can’t mind. And you’re my friend.”


	8. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?

Rajo sprawled across the thickly knotted twisthorn wool rug, watching light and shadow twist across the ceiling of the grotto. The dull red cast by the coals beside them wound in silent beauty with the cold blue of moonlight reflecting off the seep at the back of the grotto, light and careless. A beautiful dance, even without magic in it.

Dangerous though, for sleep already nibbled at the edges of their mind. The beauty of light and shadow above them, the sibilant night around them, and the comfort of good wool beneath them wove a powerful temptation. More than ever, Rajo wanted to know if its promise held truth - if they did surrender out here, would they be free of dreams? If they dared, would Link keep his promise to protect them? To return them home before dawn?

Would they sleep the way other ilmaha did, mind quiet and body at ease for six or even seven marks together?

Rajo knew it would be safer to sit up, better still to stand, and shake off the weakness drawing them towards the comforting shadows. But - they ached from the long run to the dry river and too many sweets afterwards.

Link always had food with him, and shared almost aggressively - but tonight they both indulged to the point of pain. He'd piled up more food than Rajo's entire division saw in a week, far more than could be eaten, all of it rich luxuries. Cakes and cheese, honey and preserves, bread so soft it dimpled when you touched it, and fruit so lush the sweet juice ran from their lips with every bite.

Whatever Hylian temple fed the Link-spirit must be impossibly wealthy - or desperate to keep him appeased.

Rajo fought to keep their eyes open. Sleep pulled at their limbs like trap sand, and they bit down on the inside of their cheek to restore their anchor. They could sleep in the saddle, maybe. If they got one of the older horses. They were too big to ride with the avadha like the rest of the division, which usually made them feel proud. But after the strain of the run and the Link-spirit's distress and the rich food, Rajo craved rest like it was water.  
How many marks until dawn?

"Why did the war start? Who struck first? When?" Rajo asked, when the sting started to ebb.

"I told you," said Link with a sigh. "I don't know. Everyone tells different stories, even the fairies."

"What makes fairies different from people and spirits? Where do they come from? Why aren't there any in our country?"

"I don't know. They're just... there. And you do have _one_ ," he began, trailing off the way he did when he was staring at things only he could see.

"Just one? Where? Can you show me? Why does Hyrule have lots? Is it because of the magic princess?"

"Dunno. Probably not," said Link, in the tone everyone got eventually when Rajo asked questions.

But. They couldn't afford to let weakness win. And it might be years before they could summon the Link-spirit safely. "Who does know? The fairies? Will you show me where ours lives? Teach me the magic to see them?"

"It's not a magic, Rajenaya. The bottle wasn't a magic either," Link groaned, and rolled onto his side, cradling his stomach. "The fairy place is too dangerous. There's bad things out there. Anyways she's hiding from bad magic."

"If it's not magic, what is it? How does it work? Do you have to be a spirit to talk to fairies?"

Link groaned again, burying his face in the rug. "Fairies just _**are.**_. I don't _**know**_ the other stuff - don't want to talk about it."

Rajo muttered some of Nabs favorite words, but it didn't help. Link would never answer many questions about fairies or the forest - and not many more about the Princess either.

"Okay," Rajo said. "Tell me about Hylians then. Why are their books all wrong? Why do they all live in different buildings? Do they not like each other either?"

Silence.

Rajo waited as long as possible, counting breaths and biting their tongue to stay awake. Still nothing but the soft hissing of the coals and the tiny chime of Link's new jewels when he shifted. They rolled over to face him even though it hurt. Link still had his face pressed into the rug, curled around one of the worn cushions he'd brought to furnish their strange secret place. His breathing was slow and shallow.

Rajo frowned. That wasn't right at all. He looked small and fragile, pale as sun-scoured bones, though without his shining face they were of a size.

"Link, come on. We have to go home soon - just one more story?"

Silence.

Rajo groaned, pulling themselves close enough to touch his arm - maybe the magic had his mind looping again. He wouldn't say much about the bad magic either, but Rajo teased out parts of that puzzle anyway. It drove him in everything he did, binding and hurting him, though he only ever spoke of it touching others. But that was probably part of the curse - all the more reason for him to have the healing stones.

Link didn't react when they touched his arm, or shook his shoulder. His breathing was very slow now, and suddenly Rajo felt afraid they imagined it. Like when the long fever claimed Angnu, and they thought she was asleep but she wasn't, and the division master said Rajo made it happen because alone of the ilmaha they never coughed, not once. They had broken the rules, but only to bring sweets to Angnu because she said her throat hurt all the time and King's Honey always made theirs feel better in the dry times, and they didn't mean to fall asleep, but they were trying to tell her about all the lessons she'd missed without the healer overhearing. It was an accident.

Rajo brushed aside the fine disheveled hair to touch Link's pale cheek. They swallowed their rising fear at how cold he felt - he was a spirit, so maybe it didn't mean anything at all. A flood of pink light bloomed over them and washed the grotto away.

Rajo didn't feel heavy anymore - but they couldn't see - they scrambled to their feet, trying to shout. Silence - but when they opened their mouth shadow poured out, forming into a circle of stone columns in the glittering rose light, rising from a shallow pool of bright waters.

Was this the place Link went when his eyes went dark? It was strange, but not so terrible - Rajo walked into the water, pleased to find it cool and still and perfectly clear. Motes of pink and gold light rose from the water when they cupped it in their hands to taste it - ice cold and pure, without any taste at all. Laughter - they turned, and an enormous woman made all of light and flowers bent over them. She was beautiful, and warm, and kind. Rajo reached for her, aching for her offered embrace.

She shattered at their touch with a hideous keening wail.

Rajo stumbled, winged shards of the light-woman falling all around them. They tried to catch her at first, but she slipped through their fingers, crying, flinging herselves from the water, only to fall back again. Her wings were too small, and her brokenness, her sorrow changed her. She reminded them of Nabs, after her first season away, when she locked the door and Rajo had to sneak in through the window to find her sick with majir.

They tried to remember which of the cures worked, wading back to the distant shore - how had they gotten so far away from it? Rajo didn't remember walking that far. At least the bottom was smooth, fine sand, and the water only came just above their knees. The division masters would be mad about the extra laundry, but that was fine. They just had to fetch one of the jars of blue jelly from Link's grotto. That would help, certainly. Or at least it wouldn't hurt her worse, and maybe help her tell them what she really needed.

Rajo grabbed a branch at the edge of the pool for leverage to climb back out, and screamed when it wailed and drew back. The shadows ate their voice, but the horror of the twisted, tortured thing grew only more vivid. They tried to tell themselves it was only a tree. An ugly one, surely, but the face wasn't real. Just an unfortunate pattern in its bark and knots.

They turned to find a different path to shore, and saw the statue.

Except it wasn't a statue at all, it was somehow horribly alive. Suffering. Angry.

Rajo turned again, and again, and again, stumbling in the shallow water until they were soaked through and the wool pulled them down and tripped them worse. Everywhere, faces in the dark, suffering and distorted. Forest people and river people, plains people and town people, mountain people and lake people. Every kind of people but Geldo circled around them, trapping them with their hollow eyes and outstretched hands.

 _Why didn't you save **me**_ they said.

Rajo ran.

Rajo fell, and the water tasted foul on their tongue. They tried to curse despite the silence ensnaring their tongue, trying to rise. Yet their hands found fabric and flesh underneath them instead of sand, and they knew her without needing to pull the veil from her face. Nabooru's body shimmered with the residue of terrible magic, and her blood coiled through the water like incense smoke bearing prayers to the gods.

Rajo stood, furious, ripping their dragging mantle away. They would _not_ fall among these lost, weak souls. They had magic. They knew the old laws. The golden gods said the people were to be free.

Rajo howled defiance at the spirits, calling for the wandering fire. Even though the shadow ate their voice, the fire came to their hand, wrapping them in light and warmth though they were soaked to the skin. The shards of the light woman raced and crashed around them, weaving a perilously thin barrier between them and the terrible figures in the darkness.

Lightning split the world, blue and yellow and pink, racing ahead of storm clouds from the west. Rajo knew it was west, because the storm howled like the black wind off the sand sea, but the clouds boiling above them were heavy with the promise of rain. The rolling thunder drummed around them and a great figure of a horse and rider took shape on the distant horizon. Rajo shaped a globe of light from the wandering fire, lofting it into the air above their shoulder to chase back the darkness and drew their short blade.

The rider arrowed toward them at a flat run, bent low over the great stallion's proud neck. Both were dark as the storm, wrapped in the sacred pattern of the gods' teeth and finely made armor. Rajo raised their blade in warning - the rider laughed, racing right past them like the horse-warriors wove through barrels on the training fields, his short fire-red hair lifted by the wind.

Rajo spun to follow him as he turned his mount and drew up on a low rise to the east, lit by the lightning and the glow of the coals in the grotto on the other side of the hill. The king smiled at him, raising his fist in salute, lightning sparking from his snake crown and the sun gems at his throat.

Harsh purple light bloomed behind them - Rajo turned, blade held ready, knowing already it was futile. The sheikah warrior-Mage advanced with menacing step, their red eyes sharp and unwavering. Chains of light and shadow draped over the sheikah like a fine shawl, and they held a bloody sword by its middle. They thrust the dripping handle at Rajo, saying only, _You have no choice. You must._

Rajo struck, sending the wandering fire from their own curved blade with a shout that echoed painfully loud in their own ears. The sheikah vanished in a cloud of smoke that made them cough. The rain broke over them, driving back smoke and mist - but Rajo wished it didn't.

The lovely pool of light was gone, and blood poured from grotesque mouths set into horrible froglike faces trapped in the slimy walls. Hands rose from the gore at their feet, pulling at the rags of their clothing, crying with many voices.

_Blood and greed, blood and greed,_ they said. 

_Why didn't you save **me**_ they said.

Rajo ran.

The storm whirled around them, and thunder shook the bones of the earth beneath. They let the hands tear their ragged clothing and kept running through the consuming corridors, around corners, climbing endless stairs, scrambling over broken stones.

At last they broke into the open, surrounded by the blessed wind of the Storm King and the patter of a softer rain. A Hylian woman with lapis eyes waited for them, draped in noon-white and primrose and the shining purple of fifty rupee gems. She held out her hand, but the ground split open and a great monster crawled out of the fissure. It bore the tusks and feet of a boar, the tail and teeth of a lion, and the horns of a ram. It stood upright like a human, eyes glowing with madness and pain. It wore ragged lengths of sacred cloth woven with the gods' teeth, and Rajo understood at once the battle rippling through its shifting flesh. This was in the Rovas' books, warnings about failed magics and clumsy summonings and inferior vessels offered by foolish sages and sorcerers.

The human under the beast denied the demon's claim - refused it's touch on their soul, warping and weakening the demon's magic. Blasphemy - but the gods did not strike the demon down for violating the oldest laws. Rajo looked to the bright woman, and she nodded, raising her bow made of golden light.

Rajo raised their small blade, knowing even their greatest magic, the magic of all the Rova ever wouldn't be enough to fight a power that broke the laws of the golden gods and still lived. But the beautiful Hylian woman was right - they had to try.

The wandering fire coiled around them, veiling the woman and the beast from their sight, washing the world in red and gold. Rajo willed the magic to answer their need, desperately wishing they had the Rovas' power too.

A bell-like voice and blue-pink lights burning them through the veil of the wandering fire: _You don't belong here._

Someone screamed.

This time, it wasn't Rajo, but someone both terribly little and dreadfully ancient. They screamed and screamed, and as they screamed the shadows rose to eat the wandering fire, and then Rajo.

\- - -

Rajo woke all at once wrapped in smothering warmth with the touch of an icy hand on their brow. The grotto shimmered with golden light from nowhere and everywhere at once, gilding the Link-spirit like a holy icon. He bit his lip, drawing his hand back so the tiny bells in his jewelry chimed soft and sweet.

"You ok now, yeah?"

"Yeah," lied Rajo, pulling up a corner of the heavy cloak to rub the gunk out of their eyes. "How long?"

"I fix it," said Link, twisting his hands in his lap. "I take you to morning and quiver place when you want."

"You mean it's too late, and you'll make me forget."

Link looked away. "I fix it."

"Yeah," said Rajo, shivering, suddenly glad of the warm wool Link had wrapped around them. _That_ was real. "I saw things. Why?"

"Don't know," said Link, looking at Rajo sideways. "You talked in your sleeping."

"Yeah, well, you screamed," countered Rajo.

Link hung his head. "Sorry."

"Is it fate when a spirit dreams? How do I stop it?"

Link turned, his blue eyes wide and dark as forever. "What did you see?"

"My sister," said Rajo.

"I fix it. She's my friend, like you. I just have to-"

"I know, the bad magic. What does it mean? The monsters and the magic princess - why did I see you dream them?"

Link pressed his lips tight together, but his silence roared in Rajo's ears.

"Do you have my Name?"

Link sighed. "Of course, I didn't forget. You're Rajenaya il-"

"No, my Real Name. Is that what you dreamed? Which part is my Name?"

"I don't know," said Link, angry now. "I don't understand. It's over, but I keep dreaming, so I fix it, but still dreaming, and everyone was gone, and I tried to go back to the tomorrow after the tower, but it hurts and then it's the tomorrow the forest closed again. So I went away, but they sent me home but I can't _go_ home till I fix it and-"

Rajo touched Link's knee to help him stop, offering a thin smile. They were so tired, but this was important. "Does your magic princess know about dreams?"

Link's smile bloomed radiant and true. "She is wise even in the before. She knows lots of things-"

"Take me to her," said Rajo, struggling to sit up.

Link bit his lip. "I can't - very dangerous - and far. Your sister worries if I try, and bad things."

Rajo groaned, and Link caught their hand with a secret smile.

"You write Hylian, yeah?"

"Of course, stupid. Everyone does."

"If you write a letter," he said, "I can take it even where the sun dances."


	9. Spirit : T - 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've met a terrible fate, haven't you? Shouldn't you be returning home?

Winter dug its talons into the bedrock of the land, defying the circuit of the sun. The river wallowed low in its jagged bed, bereft, for the highlands snowmelt which refused to come.

A curious observer blessed with the patience of the enduring stones might notice how the wind pushed shadows ahead of it at dusk, stirring the parched dust in strange patterns.

A wise one might begin to count the patrols guarding the border fortress, and consider the consistent habits of the warriors making use of the training grounds and target range even on the worst of days.

It would need a brave one to note the fierce aspect of the woman opening the gate at sunset.

In height and complexion and her crown of red hair, she was like her sisters. Yet no eye could regard her without marking the lizalfos skull she wore for a helm, nor the wrought steel scales guarding her from neck to knee. She moved not with the lithe grace of her sisters, but the inevitability of night, her curl-toed boots sinking into the churned up dirt of the road with every step.

She grounded the curved tip of her char-black sword and barked some terse command. Archers stepped to their places at the top of the tapered earth-brown walls, half a hundred steel arrowheads flashing in the wan sunset.

The wind held its breath, and the great sprawling fortress gave forth a single horse and rider. The young stallion preened, lifting his feet and making a show of his coffee-and-charcoal beauty. He was all leg and pride, standing over twenty hands tall, making his bundled rider seem even smaller.

The woman at the gate curled her lip at the rider, though her own cream-white mantle bore the same sky-blue and fire-orange toothed pattern as the rider's enveloping cloak.

"We have might enough and magic enough," she said. Her voice carried, deep and harsh, trained to be heard at distance and over chaos.

A careful ear lurking near enough might hear a quiet drawl answer, pitched as low as a young voice could manage.

"Then we will field more than enough, and let the rocs feast on _them_ this year."

"The night is dangerous, my prince," she said.

"I am more dangerous, Exalted."

The rider did not wait for her answer, turning away and giving the stallion leave to run.

Run he did, weaving from one ridge to another over the desolate landscape. Ravenous moldorm swallowed their trail almost as soon as they laid it, bickering with cursed peahats for right of first blood. Opportunistic rocs drifted in their wake, picking off vermin wounded in the pursuit.

A casual observer, one unfamiliar with the place and the people, might be forgiven for assuming horse and rider fled their pursuers.

A close one, never.

They made a fine picture, racing up to the undulating limestone ridge known as the Serpent's Spine, black-clad rider crouched so low over the stallion's crested neck they would have vanished from sight but for the banner of their bright cloak streaming behind. Three long strides up the stone slope, they turned. The rider raised their fist in the air as the stallion kicked out at one ambitious moldorm.

The rest perished in the crashing lightning the rider called upon them, swallowed by the charred earth below.

They stood a long moment afterwards, silent and still as the wind tiptoed around them. The sun tipped farther under the shimmering horizon, throwing its red light across land and sky. A single surviving roc banked sharply, winging back towards easier prey among the silverbrush and ironroot of the eastern plateau.

The rider pulled their cowl forward, turning the stallion once more north and west.

The dry river dripped with shadow and frozen mist, silent and treacherous. Hundreds of leagues north, a single insignificant mountain stream broke free of its winter cage, pouring through deadfall and rimed stones to restore a shallow pool below.

A column of black smoke feathered across the bloody desert sunset, redolent with the fragrance of cedar and silverleaf. Hours later, the wind would carry stray threads of it as far as the border fortress, troubling a sleepless raid captain. She would summon her three best scouts, slipping over the wall to avoid an argument with the Exalted.

They would be the first to notice the dead quiet and the tremor from the north. The raid captain would run.

Spiders fled their nests in the ruined grotto, hissing and clicking impotent protest. All but one, malformed and gilded like her horde of trash. She crouched over it, blind to the light that warned off her fellows. She twisted, caressing her treasure with her distorted limbs: cracked amphorae and dusty jars, half-buried by creeping sand and muck driven into the grotto by forgotten spring floods. Glittering fragments of cheap green glass and chipped rupees of no use to anyone but her. She muttered at the voice intruding on her miserable solitude, reassuring herself that it had not stolen from her yet, grinding her teeth, ready to strike if the fool dared.

Had she been able to see the prince, she might have chosen her life over her treasure, but gold has a habit of twisting wicked hearts. Half hidden by the shadows, his lips twisted, and her fate came to her in a flash of lightning called through the very rock of the grotto. Her spirit lingered, mourning or angry, no one ever recorded which. The prince lifted his sharp golden eyes from the wreckage, pushing back the cowl of his bright cloak.

The sand boiled, rushing away from the center of the grotto to reveal a heap of forgotten cedar firewood, preserved in its burial and eager for the spark he called to it with a single word. The prince regarded the fire much as it regarded him, each wrapped in their own concerns. His oiled curls draped over his high collar, heavy with gold ornaments woven into hundreds of tiny braids scattered throughout. Yet the opulence of his dress only underscored his coltish, sharp-edged youth.

“I have work for you,” he said to the empty grotto.

The grotto listened, keeping its secrets.

“You wanted to meet the king, didn’t you?”

Blue light flared over the frozen seep behind the prince. He did not turn, but a watchful eye might have caught the ghost of a smile on wide lips.

“You came,” said a voice from the blue light, high and young.

“Don’t be stupid,” said the prince. “You wrapped her letter in yours, didn’t you?”

“You have to tell me, before it’s too late,” said the boy in the oversized purple tunic, stepping from the circle of blue light with a worried look. He stood a full head shorter than the prince, as pale as the other was brown. “Everyone is doing bad things, and she is dreaming the storm again.”

The prince turned, flipping his cloak over one broad shoulder and lifting his chin with pride. The firelight poured around him, flashing on dozens of bright topaz and gold ornaments strewn over his fitted night-black and earth-brown leathers.

The boy and the prince stared at one another in the silence.

“Green suits you,” said the prince. “You will bring us wealth - and victory.”

“You lied,” said the fair-haired boy with with the green-and-gold jewelry, blue eyes bright with unshed tears.

“It was true enough when I said it,” said the prince with a shrug. “I’m not king yet. But I will be.”

“You do bad things, Ganondorf,” said the boy, pulling a mask from behind his back when the prince looked away.

“It’s not bad when you're stealing from a stealer. Or to save people,” said the prince, folding his arms over his thin chest. “Anyways, Hyrule does worse things - and the gods don't care anyway.”

“Don’t look,” the boy said, bowing his head over the painted mask. The stones echoed with his screams as the magic unravelled and rewove him to its will.

Ganondorf waited, jaw tight. When the magic ebbed, he said only, “We’ll fix it, Link.”

“Yes,” said the white-clad warrior spirit, lifting his twisted, shining sword. It rang like a hundred silver bells, echoing in the close confines of the grotto. “It is good as done.”

Ganondorf nodded, offering his hand to the other. “Come with me. It's time to be a hero.”

The cry of the boy-warrior-spirit echoed down the dry river, unheard.

Twilight fell in silence, and the wind lay down her bloody knives.

  
**\- o - O - o -**

  
**_Fin._**

**Author's Note:**

> Note:  
>   
> For these stories I will be using roughly real-world human lifespans and aging as the standard, despite canon indications that Hylians and Gerudo live longer. Until there are comprehensive canonical answers as to the lifespan and maturation rates, this just seems easiest. My reasoning for the ages I've chosen for these stories is partly canon character design and clues left in dialogue of the post OoT games, and partly extrapolation from those fragments.  
>   
> I will be using the following ages for the main characters as of the Fateful Day Link met Zelda in Hyrule Castle the first time in OoT:  
> 
> 
> * Nabooru “Nabs” Avadha Saiev - 27  
> 
> * Rajenaya “Rajo” Ilmaha Rova - 20  
> 
> * Princess Zelda, later called Windblade - 17  
> 
> * Link - 12


End file.
